#sobs......

i like him :)

~~~

Until he wasn't.

Everything comes crashing in on him at once- the lack of sleep, the broken schedule, the near-obsessive commitment to his latest journal, filled with everything he could remember of what he had before he knew Las Nevadas existed. He's not sure how long it's been, but that's not too unusual for him. There's a half-empty mug on the desk beside him, tea long since gone cold. He thinks that was his breakfast, but he's not sure. It's late afternoon now, he knows that by the sun through the window, but he's not sure how long he's been sitting here, watching this blank page like the words will appear for him this time. His quill lays off to the side, ink dripping from the tip to stain his desk, but he can't bring himself to care. He still has the quilt he stole off Sapnap's bed, it's currently wrapped around his shoulders, but he still feels cold, somehow. He's felt cold a lot recently.

The quiet air of the library seems to shift all at once, and what had been quiet numbness is suddenly overwhelming. Too much, too much, too much. He needs to go. He needs to leave. Now.

He isn't sure where he's going. He folds Sapnap's quilt neatly to place it back on his bed, ignoring the way his hands shake. The whole journal he's been working on is thrown haphazardly into the basket full of letters to Quackity, the same basket he'd accidentally upended days ago, when he still felt capable of doing anything, sending letters flying. He's pretty sure most of them ended up back in the basket. He doesn't know if he cares anymore, though. He doesn't know if he cares about much of anything besides getting away from the oppressive loneliness Kinoko Kingdom holds.

He isn't sure where he's going, but he finds his way there anyway. He's not dressed warmly enough for the cool desert evening but it's fine, he pulls his sleeves down over his hands and pretends he's okay. If he says it often enough, maybe it'll be true. Las Nevadas has a busy nightlife, it's not long before he comes across someone, and it's luckily someone he knows, and someone that won't comment on the sorry state he's in. If Charlie notices the darkness under his eyes, the slump of his shoulders, the pitiful half-smile he tries to pass off as the real thing, he doesn't comment on it. He does point Karl towards the Needle, though, when he asks if he's seen Quackity. Now that he's here, his former fiancé is all he can think of. He thinks he'd be okay with being yelled at as long as he gets to see him again. It would hurt, just like it hurt last time, but hurt is better than the empty nothingness that's settled in his chest where his heart used to reside. Hurt is better than alone.

Charlie's directions are easy enough to follow, and the spike of fear he gets standing outside the door is nothing compared to the thought of spending another single second alone. He taps lightly on the door as he's opening it, not giving Quackity the chance to turn him away if he recognizes his voice.

"...Quackity?"

His voice is soft, like he'd shatter with any more volume, and he hesitates in the doorway, eyes downcast. He came to see him, but he can't even bring himself to look now, terrified of what he'll see if he meets Quackity's eyes. He told him not to come back, and Karl ignored it- he's just given him another reason to hate him, as if he didn't have enough before.

c!karl

nepetaiskewl submitted:

here have this